Allouette

Singing larks I saw for sale -(Ah! the pain of it)Plucked and ready to impaleOn a roasting spit;Happy larks that summer-longStormed the radiant sky,Adoration in their song . . .Packed to make a pie.

Hark! from springs of joy unseenSpray their jewelled notes.Tangle them in nets of green,Twist their lyric throats;Clip their wings and string them tiht,Stab them with a skewer,All to tempt the apptiteOf the epicure.

Shade of Shelley! Come nt nighthis accursèd spot,Where for sixpence on can buySkylarks for the pot;Dante, paint a blacker hell,Plunge in deeper darksWretches who can slay and sellSunny-hearted larks.

You who eat, you are the worst:By internal pains,May you ever be accurstWho pluck these poor remains.But for you wingèd joy would sourTo heaven from the sod:In ecstasy a lark would pour